<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Gestural by Elenothar</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229088">Gestural</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar'>Elenothar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Discovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Temporary loss of voice, diplomatic missions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:14:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fervent gesturing, it turns out, is not the most reliable method of communication.</p><p>Unfortunately, it’s the only method currently open to Christopher Pike because his vocal chords are not responding to any of the signals his brain is sending them. In fact, beyond the sound of his own strained breathing, he hasn’t managed to make so much as a squeak audible since he drank whatever ceremonial concoction the High Priestess of Telar IV had offered to seal their negotiations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gestural</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been noodling away at this fic for months without end in sight, so I figured I might as well post it. Massive thanks, as usual, to alethia, for enough encouragement to make me actually finish this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>*</p><p>Fervent gesturing, it turns out, is not the most reliable method of communication.</p><p>Unfortunately, it’s the only method currently open to Christopher Pike because his vocal chords are not responding to any of the signals his brain is sending them. In fact, beyond the sound of his own strained breathing, he hasn’t managed to make so much as a squeak audible since he drank whatever ceremonial concoction the High Priestess of Telar IV had offered to seal their negotiations. That diplomacy was the cause of his ‘injury’ makes the whole situation slightly more bearable – or so he tells himself.</p><p>Chris makes a conscious effort to relax, concentrating on the feel of the hard shuttle seat beneath him as they make their way back up to <em>Discovery </em>in orbit. Michael keeps throwing him worried glances from the pilot’s seat, Saru nominally co-piloting, but there’s little he can do right now to reassure her. He knows his easy acquiescence to not flying the shuttle on the way back had done nothing to curb her concerns – she’s quite aware of how much he enjoys piloting and how rarely he gets to do it these days – even though she would have argued against it had he tried to take the helm.</p><p>A mute pilot is a liability. They have other capable pilots on board. It was logical for him to stand himself down.</p><p>Maybe if he keeps repeating the litany to himself his hands will stop itching for the controls, seeking any and all distraction.</p><p>Sometimes, it really would be helpful to be able to call off something just because he has a bad feeling about it – though in this case, he <em>had</em> thought any unhappy feelings stemmed from being called away from the Red Angel mystery for a last minute diplomatic mission in an adjacent sector of space. Over the course of his career, plenty of people have told him he’s surprisingly (or annoyingly, depending on who you ask) good at talking people into things, but diplomacy has still never been his favourite. Not because Chris doesn’t enjoy facilitating other cultures’ entrance into the Federation or even dislikes the process of negotiation itself, but because he has yet to attend any diplomatic event that hasn’t been drenched in needless pomp and circumstance. Admittedly, some cultures are a little subtler about it than others, but there’s almost always rigid ceremony involved (which invites accidental missteps), endless talking that does little to get to the point, and usually copious amounts of alcohol.</p><p>The representative of the Federation can’t exactly bow out of the endless toasts. Personally, Chris thinks toasts should be banned (the disingenuity tends to rankle), but so far no one has asked about his opinions on the matter, so he smiles along like a good little faux-diplomat, carefully tracking the exact moment he can leave without causing some kind of Incident (according to the admiralty, captains in general are an incident waiting to happen and he’s not usually in the mood to prove them right). While he may occasionally indulge in a quiet drink in his quarters at the end of a particularly trying day, official business and mind-altering substances just don’t mix – and that’s on top of his lingering issues about letting <em>anything</em> mess with his head. The memory of Talos is… persistent.</p><p>Then again, he hadn’t exactly expected the ceremonial drink to somehow steal his voice.</p><p>The Telarians had been perfect hosts, peaceful and gracious, and none of the <em>Discovery </em>crew had had any concerns about their safety. Not even Commander Nhan, whose job it is to be suspicious and evaluate risks. Chris himself had felt at ease, welcomed.</p><p>The scant briefing they’d been given simply hadn’t covered the cultural significance Telarians place on silence.</p><p>
  <em>Does the honoured Captain not trust others to speak for him?</em>
</p><p>Chris shifts in his seat, hand dropping from where his fingers had been ghosting over his throat. He’s been catching himself doing that ever since it happened, and he really needs to get over the unconscious gesture if he wants to have any chance of convincing others that he’s fine. His throat feels normal, doesn’t look any different. Nothing hurts, but it also doesn’t <em>work</em>. The drink had gone down smoothly, cold and tingling – and when he’d opened his mouth afterwards, no sound had come out.</p><p>He pushes the memory of that first flash of panic aside. Instead he focuses on preparing the inevitable incident report in his head.</p><ul>
<li>
<p>Successfully concluded negotiations; Telarian Government willing to open further channels of communication with the Federation.</p>
</li>
<li>
<p>During the celebration ceremony, the head of the Federation delegation (Captain Pike) was expected to accept a drink from Telarian High Priestess (yes, Una, I listened to your lecture on never accepting drinks from strangers, but diplomatic events hardly count)</p>
</li>
<li>
<p>Drink entirely inhibited vocal function (<em>ENTIRELY</em>)</p>
</li>
<li>
<p>Delegation not warned beforehand (who could <em>possibly</em> want to know the effects of a drink before imbibing it, after all)</p>
</li>
<li>
<p>High Priestess surprised by negative reaction</p>
</li>
<li>
<p>Recommend amending file on Telar IV to include cultural significance of silence and rituals concerning it (see: Commander Burnham’s xenoanthropology report)</p>
</li>
<li>
<p>Effects of drink of varying duration, up to two weeks (could be worse, but the affected party could do with something less damned <em>vague</em>)</p>
</li>
</ul><p>No matter how often one encounters alien cultures, the misunderstandings will get you every time.</p><p>
  <em>Does the honoured Captain not trust others to speak for him?</em>
</p><p>He does. He <em>had</em>. Michael and Saru had taken over for him seamlessly, once they realised what had happened.</p><p>The memory of Michael fully locking down her anger on his behalf and calmly explaining to the High Priestess that in the Federation altering a being’s physicality without their consent is not permitted carries fondness with it. Even silenced and stressed, Chris can’t help but adore her. Michael was the one who had correctly interpreted his gesturing afterwards and asked the one question he desperately needed answered: how long are the effects going to last?</p><p>“Captain, we’re about to land.”</p><p>Saru’s voice cuts through his distraction. Chris opens his eyes to find his First Officer studying him, half twisted in his seat and head tilted in a way Chris has learned indicates worry or deep thought. In this case, the former is more likely and some part of him is pleased that he and Saru are getting along well enough now for that to be the case.</p><p>Chris opens his mouth to thank him and only remembers a moment too late that he <em>can’t</em>. His lips thin as he settles for an acknowledging nod instead, throat tight. Much like breathing, sight and hearing, the ability to use his voice is something so easily taken for granted. Yet if Chris had ever expended more than a passing thought on the possibility that it may be taken from him, it still wouldn’t have prepared him for the reality, the disconnect between thought and action.</p><p>As the shuttle sets down gently in <em>Discovery</em>’s shuttle bay, he wonders idly if he’s going to get used to it over the coming days.</p><p>Someone must’ve called ahead with an update because the first thing that happens when he exits the shuttle is Nhan handing him a PADD, eyes solemn.</p><p>“I have activated the text to voice feature,” she says.</p><p>Chris still hasn’t moved past the reflex to open his mouth first, but at least this time he stops himself before the words fail to come out. He thumbs the PADD on, finding the text processor already open.</p><p>[Thanks, Nhan.]</p><p>It’s the ship’s generic computer voice that reads the words out and he only just keeps the flinch contained, the contrast is so stark. At least he has a way of communicating now that doesn’t resemble a game of charades.</p><p>He turns to Saru, who’s hovering and quite impressively so, given his tall, lanky form.</p><p>[Saru, you have command.] While typing he can tune out the computerised voice coming from the PADD’s speakers. Michael is a warm, supportive presence at his side. [I’ll make myself available, should anything unusual come up. Get me your report when you can.]</p><p>Saru inclines his head. “As you wish, Captain.”</p><p>His First Officer makes meaningful eye-contact with Michael, who nods. Chris would’ve been more irritated about their managing of him if he wasn’t quite so relieved to have Michael with him as he retreats to his quarters. He may not be willing to show how much this affects him to the whole crew, but Michael is a different story.</p><p>They travel the entire way in silence, easy with her in a way it wouldn’t have been with anyone else. Chris’ mind wants to drift off into the next steps, but he keeps it reined in. There’s pressure building behind his eyes, and if his years of dealing with the <em>Enterprise</em>’s adventures (sometimes ludicrous, often dangerous, occasionally both) have taught him anything, it’s where his own breaking points are. He needs at least a few minutes in the privacy of his quarters to quietly (hah) lose his shit before he can tackle the reality of his limits for the next few days.</p><p>The door closes behind them with a gentle swish – still louder than Chris can currently manage to be, a supremely unhelpful part of his mind supplies – and Chris doesn’t even make it to the couch before he drops. He has held it together for hours, he thinks he can be excused.</p><p>They end up on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, Michael’s arms around him as he tries to even his breathing against her neck. Temporarily losing his voice is nowhere near the worst thing that’s ever happened to him and yet it <em>hits</em> him in a way few other things have. The ability to speak is fundamental, particularly for a captain, and to have that taken from him without warning is making his heart thud, panic rising in his throat in a swelling tide now that he has relaxed the iron control over his thoughts and feelings.</p><p>Michael, bless her understanding heart, doesn’t say anything, just holds him while he goes about painstakingly recovering his equilibrium.</p><p>Finally he reaches for the PADD, lying discarded on the floor near his knee.</p><p>[Need to go to sickbay before P or C come hunt me down.]</p><p>Michael nods, one corner of her mouth quirking up. She’s an even worse patient than Chris is. “A wise decision. Do you want me to accompany you?”</p><p>Chris takes a moment to think it over. She isn’t technically needed for the check-up itself, but another perspective on what happened down on the planet might be useful to the doctors. More to the point, Michael is good at reading him. He has the PADD to communicate now, but an extra set of eyes could speed things along.</p><p>He nods, types, [Easier. You’re better at reading gestures.]</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Doctor Pollard rounds on him as soon as he steps through the door.</p><p>“Captain, good. I was starting to think I’d have to send out a search team to drag you here.”</p><p>It’s a good thing Chris has years of exposure to Doctor Boyce, who is – as yet – unrivalled in cantankerous kindness (a Starfleet doctor speciality, Chris is starting to think). He manages a smile for her that’s only slightly strained.</p><p>[No need.]</p><p>Pollard’s expression softens as she takes in his stand-in computerised voice. “I’ll do my best to ask yes/no questions where possible,” she says, waving him over to one of the biobeds. “I’m assuming Commander Burnham is here to fill in details?”</p><p>Chris nods as he settles on the bed. At least medical is much more comfortable when he’s able stay upright under his own power and allowed to wear his uniform rather than a patient’s gown.</p><p>It only takes a glance at her for Michael to take over. “Captain Pike ingested an unknown substance down on the planet which caused a total loss of vocal functions, although breathing remained unobstructed. The natives assured us that the effects are temporary but refused to give us a sample for religious reasons.”</p><p>Already busy scanning his chest and throat area, Pollard turns to Chris. “Any pain?”</p><p>He shakes his head in the negative.</p><p>“Numbness? Any physical sensation that differs from normal at all?”</p><p>Chris shakes his head again, shrugging to indicate his own surprise at the fact.</p><p>Pollard frowns, though whether at his answer or the scan results now hovering above the bed he isn’t sure. Knowing he wouldn’t understand half of it anyway, Chris keeps his gaze on Michael, who’s standing almost at parade rest at the foot of his bed, hands clasped behind her back. He tries for a reassuring smile, but a muscle keeps jumping in her jaw.</p><p>Pollard swipes through the results, magnifying one area, then another. Her frown deepens. “The scans can’t find anything wrong with your vocal chords or throat,” she says bluntly, just as Culber comes out of the office.</p><p>He halts, expression curious, which is a definite improvement over the detached blankness Chris has seen on his face a lot since he was rescued from the mycelial network.</p><p>“Mind if I have a look?” he asks, gaze darting from Pollard to Chris.</p><p>Chris nods at the same time that Pollard steps back from the bed with a sigh.</p><p>“Be my guest. I can’t treat a problem I can’t find.”</p><p>Hopes of a quick fix already abandoned, Chris watches Culber focus on the numbers, a line of concentration appearing between his brows. Being attended by not one but two highly competent doctors is never good news.</p><p>It takes about thirty minutes, another scan, a blood test, and an actual throat swab he does his best not to gag through, before Culber gives up as well.</p><p>“Medically, you should be able to speak without problem,” he announces, sympathy glinting in his dark eyes. Next to him Pollard nods, adding her agreement to her colleague’s assessment.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Captain,” she says. “Unless something changes, it looks like you’re going to have to wait it out.” Swiping away the hologram, Pollard gives him a pointed look. “I know you already passed command to Mr Saru, but I see no reason for you to be barred from duty beyond that, as <em>long</em> as you keep an eye on any developments.”</p><p>Chris rather doubts there are going to <em>be </em>any developments, but has spent enough time around doctors by now to know to just nod dutifully. Besides, Michael’s narrowed gaze promises close supervision anyway.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>By the time they make it back to his quarters, beta shift is almost over and going to bed starts sounding like the best idea he has had since the diplomatic mission went to hell in a handbasket.</p><p>Michael, it seems, has similar ideas, delightfully also including pushing him down on the bed, drawing him close and laying a warm palm against his cheek.</p><p>The kiss is beautifully familiar, the subtle scent of Michael’s skin in his nose and the feeling of her lips moving against his. He smiles, knowing she can feel the curve of it against her mouth, then begins to travel light kisses along her cheek and jaw, hands buried in her hair. He loves the little noises she makes, listens intently even as the rest of him gets distracted by her body’s movement against his.</p><p>Then Michael stills, sudden in a way she hasn’t since the early days, when they’d still been working out what each of them likes. She’s breathing hard, but her voice is steady as she draws back, eyes serious enough to clear some of the haze of lust in his mind.</p><p>“This feels… off. I’m missing the auditory feedback.”</p><p>Chris raises an unimpressed brow, gesturing to his <em>very</em> obvious interest.</p><p>But Michael pulls back further, something almost vulnerable in her expression. “It doesn’t… you wouldn’t be able to protest if we exceed your comfort zone.”</p><p>Some part of him is tempted to point out that he isn’t exactly a small man – he could easily make his displeasure known bodily if necessary.</p><p>But.</p><p>With the distraction of arousal fading he understands where Michael is coming from. If it were him in her position, Michael silenced, a crucial measure of agency taken from her, he would likely insist on foregoing sex too. Chances are everything would be fine, but it’s not a risk he’d want to take, not with Michael’s wellbeing. Ill-advised sex can lead to particularly tenacious wounds.</p><p>So he nods, lets his head thump back against the pillow, and resigns himself to a few days without that particular form of intimacy. The lightening of Michael’s expression immediately makes the lack of argument worth it. Besides, he still gets to sleep wrapped around her, soaking up the comfort of her presence, the warmth of her body – <em>that </em>he could forego much less easily.</p><p>Chris does wonder though, just on the edge of sleep, whether there was something deeper driving Michael’s insistence.</p><p>*</p><p>Chris sleeps in the next morning – not decadently so but past his usual wake-up call – mind still wrung out from the previous day. He finds with some regret but no surprise that Michael has already left for her shift. He isn’t yet late for his own, though given the verdict of restricted duty it doesn’t matter as much as usual, but he fights the temptation to just keep hiding in bed, where silence is normal rather than an aberration.</p><p>His gaze finds a PADD lying prominently on the nightstand. He frowns – he and Michael don’t usually leave each other notes, already well-aware of the shifting demands of life on a starship for a high-ranking officer. Chris turns on the screen and finds a document with Michael’s characteristic bullet point-style thoughts, thoroughly organised and not a word wasted, and some attached files, with titles like ‘Disabilities and Starfleet: A Guide’. His heart warms. Of course Michael has been thinking of ways to make this easier for him, and probably got up early just so she could research the matter.</p><p>Before he delves into it, Chris goes to take a shower, humming to himself because even without sound the movement of his throat feel familiar and grounding, part of his morning routine. Michael had been adorably delighted to find out that absent-minded humming when he’s distracted or doing something routine in private is normal for him. Chris finds the whole thing vaguely embarrassing – his voice isn’t going to send those with sensitive ears running, but it’s also not going to win him any awards – but Michael smiles whenever she hears it, so he hasn’t made much of an effort to curb the habit.</p><p>At this point his stomach is rumbling in a pointed reminder that he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast the previous day, so he quickly skims Michael’s notes. A good choice, as it turns out (not that heeding Michael’s observations ever <em>isn’t</em>) because he hadn’t even thought of just how many critical systems on a starship are voice-activated. Turbolifts and replicators, for one. Their captain’s impairment is already going to be a spectacle, Chris doesn’t particularly want to add to it by standing in the mess hall like an idiot because he hadn’t remembered that the computer doesn’t accept its own voice as input, to avoid system-damaging feedback loops.</p><p>Michael’s notes point him to a system setting on his PADD which overrides that directive and allows him to type his choice and have the replicator (or turbolift, or transport hatch, or door…) respond to the PADD’s readout.</p><p>Much of the rest of the information is interesting, but not necessarily useful in his particular case.</p><p>He doesn’t know enough of the Federation standard sign language to use the sign-to-voice translating wrist band that keeps track of motions, and unless the High Priestess lied to them his voice will be back before he could manage to acquire more than the basics. Still, Chris adds ‘learn Federation Sign’ to his mental list of things to do, filing it under ‘useful, not immediately necessary’, because he can suddenly think of a dozen circumstances where knowing some form of sign language could be advantageous.</p><p>A telepathic ‘buddy’ is also out of the question. For one thing, he’s far too uneasy with telepathy in general (Talos again), but that’s a moot point anyway because there’s no one on board who would fit the bill. While a few telepathic or semi-telepathic species are part of the Federation, those people who do enter Starfleet tend to have their pick of assignments and often serve in cushier jobs than front-line starship duty. On the <em>Enterprise, </em>Spock might’ve filled such a role, though Chris would’ve been reluctant to ask him. Spock is an intensely private person and would probably not enjoy staying linked mind-to-mind over the course of several days. But Spock is still missing and that’s a worry Chris really doesn’t want to engage with right now, so he pushes it down to simmer at the back of his mind.</p><p>As tempted as Chris is to read further into the material, at this point it really is just procrastination. The urge to just stay in his quarters and do paperwork from there is appallingly strong, and he has to tell himself sternly to <em>pull yourself together, Pike, you’re the captain dammit</em>.</p><p>By the time he enters the mess hall, he really regrets his sense of duty. The covert stares from the crew as he passed by in the corridor were bad enough – understandable, but irritating nonetheless – but it gets ten times worse in the mess hall, full with people having breakfast before alpha shift.</p><p>It’s not that anyone is mean about it. Of course not, this is a good crew and he knows they’ve accepted him despite the slightly rocky start and the grim shadow their previous captain cast. No, the glances and murmuring are sympathetic or curious, he <em>knows </em>that.</p><p>It’s still irritating.</p><p>Chris knows he’d deal better if he wasn’t feeling quite so off-kilter, but he is and his ability to tune out the weight of people’s gazes before they become smothering is suffering.</p><p>Where he might usually have sought out company, he now settles at an abandoned table with his omelette. Typing so he can ‘speak’ would just distract him from eating and he just isn’t in the mood for it.</p><p>For about five minutes he’s left alone, no one quite daring to disturb him when they know normal conversation is out of the question. He has only made it through a fraction of his food, freaked out by the way he can hear himself chewing but not swallowing.</p><p>He’s concentrating on stabbing a piece of tomato with perhaps a little more force than necessary when someone plonks a tray down on the table.</p><p>Startled, Chris looks up to find Stamets sitting down opposite him, a familiar mulish tilt to his mouth.</p><p>Chris had figured out quite early on that there’s kindness lurking underneath Stamets’ abrasive outer shell, but he hadn’t expected to find the other man attempting to turn it on <em>him</em>.</p><p>In response to Chris’ raised eyebrows, Stamets shrugs. “I don’t like to be hassled while I’m eating. This way you get a buffer and I get some blessed silence for once.”</p><p>Chris’ lips want to twitch in amusement at the dry tone, but he curbs the instinct. Stamets gets bristly when his good deeds are acknowledged and there’s something to the slight tension around the lines of his mouth which suggests that Stamets’ need for silence is less exaggerated than he might want others to believe.</p><p>Culber’s return had been nothing short of miraculous, but there’s tension between those two men where before, from what Chris could gather, had been harmony and that can’t be easy. As far as Chris can see they’re working it out, but it’s a rocky road.</p><p>So Chris only nods and gestures in a way that he hopes conveys ‘thanks and go ahead’.</p><p>They eat in companionable silence and it’s exactly what Chris had needed. Not solitude, but companionship without expectation of conversation.</p><p>Stamets, who seems to either eat at the speed of light or take longer than a sated horse, has settled on the latter today and they finish around the same time.</p><p>Before they split, Chris flashes Stamets a grateful smile, small and honest. Stamets nods in reply, expression softening just a little bit.</p><p>“Engineering isn’t busy right now,” he says. “You wouldn’t be in the way.”</p><p>Coming from Stamets, that’s pretty much an invitation with bells on, and the pleasure it elicits carries Chris all the way to his ready room, despite the glances and whispering in the hallways that follow him through the ship.</p><p>It takes him an hour to put together his report on Telar IV – sarcasm dutifully edited out in the final version – and another hour to look through the reports by all the crew members who had, at various points, been down on the planet with him. At least this kind of work is silent by nature, but he still leans back in relief when he has sent the whole bundle off to Starfleet Command.</p><p>Chris is half an hour into a Federation sign tutorial when the door chimes. He opens his mouth, scowls, reaches for his PADD. If anyone would’ve taken that sucker’s bet, he would’ve made a handy sum of imaginary money wagering that it would be Michael coming through the door.</p><p>[Did the bridge crew decide to send someone to check I’m still alive or did you volunteer yourself?]</p><p>“Can’t it be both?” Michael returns, dry. Chris does his best to focus on her rather than the lack of inflection in the computerised voice now speaking for him. It reads out what he writes in a flat voice that only adjusts slightly for question marks – sarcasm certainly doesn’t register. “The crew is… worried about your welfare.”</p><p>Chris sighs soundlessly. [I’m fine. It’s only temporary.]</p><p>Michael arches her eyebrow in clear challenge, but doesn’t voice it. His lack of concern for his own well-being over others’ is a frequent topic of conversation – just as Michael’s is. In this they’re unfortunately alike.</p><p>She nods towards his PADD. “Tilly and Reno are working on a more elegant solution.”</p><p>Chris’ forehead creases. [Tilly and Reno?]</p><p>“I know,” Michael says, voice gone even drier. “Either it’ll end in disaster or they’ll form the most terrifyingly efficient team in the Federation. I’m unsure which option worries me more.”</p><p>Chris shakes his head, lips twitching in the first honestly amused smile since Telar IV.</p><p>[I’d appreciate anything they can come up with. Stamets invited me to engineering this morning – I must’ve looked absolutely miserable.]</p><p><em>That</em> tidbit has both Michael’s eyebrows attempting to disappear into her hairline, but instead of commenting on Stamets’ sudden attack of soft-heartedness, she indicates his table screen.</p><p>“Sign language?”</p><p>Chris shrugs. [Not enough time to properly learn it, but I thought I’d give it a shot.]</p><p>Michael replies by signalling ‘agreement’ with her hands, because of course she knows Federation Sign. Catching his fond look, she smiles. “Basic sign was a required module for xenoanthropologists on Vulcan. I’m not fully fluent, but if you need someone to practise with I’m an option.”</p><p>Chris nods, acceptance and gratitude both.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Michael’s visit, it turns out, opened the metaphorical floodgates. First comes Saru, just as Chris finishes reading through the daily Federation updates every captain receives while they’re in comm range. These days they mostly boil down to ‘peace with the Klingons still holding’, though today he had also frowned over a report of conflict on Salisu. When he’d worked his ass off for almost a month to get them to the point of joining the Federation a few years back, he’d really hoped he would effect some more lasting change. Well, at least it’s not his problem any more.</p><p>Like Michael, Saru is clearly mostly there to check up on him and make sure the Captain isn’t buckling under the stress of his current mute state, so Chris does his best to project his usual steadiness throughout the brief visit. He thinks his first officer leaves reassured.</p><p>At lunch, he’s approached not once but <em>three </em>times by ensigns and lieutenants wanting to wish him well. He had noticed a group of them loitering near his table but hadn’t thought much of it until Ensign Taira had stepped into his field of vision, biting her lip and then blurting out her appreciation for his being a good captain and retreating again before he can do anything but blink in surprise. While the sentiment had been clear in the crew’s relaxing around him after the first few days of feeling him out, no one had quite come out and said it to his face before. Apparently his inability to immediately reply has made it easier for some to express themselves – he can admire the strategy, at least, even if it <em>is </em>a little embarrassing, too.</p><p>After two more such visits, he’s both pleased, and happy to retreat to his ready room again, for all that he isn’t left alone for longer than half an hour. If Michael hadn’t forewarned him, Chris would’ve been much more bewildered by the duo of Ensign Tilly and Commander Reno invading his ready room, the latter all but being towed by the former.</p><p>The Ensign clearly hasn’t had much rest, eyes a little red and hair slightly wilder than usual, while Reno looks mostly unaffected. Certainly, her scowl looks just like it always does.</p><p>[Did either of you sleep?] he types, well aware that he’s being a little overbearing but this crew just seems to need it so <em>badly</em>.</p><p>Tilly opens her mouth, a lie clearly about to tumble out, but Reno beats her to it.</p><p>“We slept for three hours at the tail-end of gamma,” she says evenly, sounding the soul of grumpiness. Then she compounds it by adding, “Enough for me, but clearly not for this young sprog here.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, I’ve had way worse,” Tilly chimes in – though not after giving Reno a dirty look for her honesty – “and Commander ‘caffeinated substances should be restricted to people over the age of thirty’ here even stopped me from drinking a sixth espresso shot.”</p><p>Chris resists the urge to hide his face behind his hand. <em>Youth</em>. He doesn’t stop himself from giving them a deeply unimpressed look, however.</p><p>[I do not expect any member of my crew to work through their sleep cycle outside of an emergency] he reminds them both, not that it’ll do much good, going by their deeply unconvincing contrite expressions. Well, Ensign Tilly’s deeply unconvincing contrite expression. Reno doesn’t even bother changing her expression at all, which is par for the course. Chris really wishes his sighs weren’t soundless right now. [What do you have for me?]</p><p>Tilly immediately brightens again, handing him a miniaturised PADD, slightly larger than his palm and almost weightless in his hand.</p><p>“We used as many recordings of your voice as we could find and ran an extrapolation programme. It doesn’t sound quite natural yet ‘cause the nuances of human voices are actually really really hard to recreate artificially, like <em>insanely</em> hard, and we’d need a whole team of linguists <em>Discovery </em>hasn’t got, but Michael mentioned how you didn’t like using the standard computer voice so we thought this would be better?”</p><p>Chris blinks through the torrent of words, wondering not for the first time what Ensign Tilly’s lung capacity is like because she never seems to breathe when she’s on a roll.</p><p>He taps at the small PADD, which blinks its recognition of his fingerprint – smart, he doesn’t really want anyone else running around with a PADD programmed to utter his voice – and uses the keyboard that appears, taking up more than half of the screen to type, [Does Discovery need a team of linguists?]</p><p>It really is his voice that issues from the speaker, instantly recognisable. Chris shudders a little at hearing it recorded, rather than through the distortion of his own bone structure, and as Tilly had said, it doesn’t sound quite natural, ever so slightly off, but it’s parsecs better than the computer’s voice.</p><p>“Not… usually?” Tilly says, looking like she’s trying to figure out whether this is a trick question somehow. “Though <em>one</em> would be nice, so Saru doesn’t always have to deal with everything language-related that the universal translator can’t fix.”</p><p>Chris, who remembers the incident with the sphere, nods his agreement.</p><p>[I’ll see what I can do,] he promises.</p><p>He’s about to thank them when Reno speaks up. “The PADD can be affixed to your uniform in the same manner as your badge. This gives you back the advantage of having two hands free while not engaged in conversation.”</p><p>Chris’ eyebrows rise, impressed, as he tests out the functionality on his arm. The miniature PADD sticks to the fabric without fuss.</p><p>[Very handy,] he comments, smiling at each of them in turn. [Thank you for your efforts. I appreciate the thought and time you’ve put into making things easier for me.]</p><p>Reno’s scowl loses a little of its potency. Tilly beams.</p><p>Chris shoos them out, unutterably fond of them both.</p><p>*</p><p>The next few days pass similarly, Chris slowly getting used to his own silence and the crew doing its best to subtly (or not so subtly, on occasion) help him through it.</p><p>The next day, he’s in the mess hall and it’s Doctor Culber who sits down with him, silently keeping Chris company. If nothing else, it’s proof that Culber and Stamets are talking enough to pool their mothering instincts where their Captain is concerned.</p><p>Kat sends him a message saying that she’s there for him if he wants to <em>talk</em>. It makes Chris laugh, just as she had likely intended – she’s never been one for coddling anyone, not even where her sense of humour is concerned.</p><p>Number One sends a missive that only reads:</p><p>
  <em>Captain,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heard of your latest mishap. If I didn’t know better, I would think it a call for help, not that you get into less trouble on the Enterprise. Drop me a line when you’re back to normal, and if there’s any ass-kicking you need taken care of, I cheerfully volunteer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Phil says: “Only you. Take better care of yourself for God’s sake.”</em>
</p><p>Chris is probably lucky he isn’t on the <em>Enterprise </em>right now – he would never hear the end of it. And while his friends would be duly sympathetic to his plight, they also wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of the fact that they could currently needle him without easy retaliation.</p><p>It doesn’t stop there.</p><p>Once he accidentally leaves his PADD in one of the briefing rooms, trapping himself on deck 2 because some helpful Ensign had already gathered it up to return it to him by the time he realises and backtracks, which leads to a whole ten minutes of playing what amounts to a very frustrating game of charades with Nhan in an attempt to get her to understand what happened. Turns out, he should probably have picked someone human to attempt it with because Barzans don’t have quite the same gestural background. On the other hand, once she understands what he needs, she has his PADD back within five minutes and doesn’t even smirk too much.</p><p>The story is all over the ship by the time the shift is over.</p><p>Michael next greets him with an unimpressed “Losing your PADD, Chris, really?”, which only serves to remind him that he really doesn’t need to be on the <em>Enterprise </em>to be teased at every turn.</p><p>Then again, he doesn’t exactly do much to dissuade it. He <em>knows</em> his responding glare is weak at best because he not-so-secretly adores seeing Michael so relaxed, even if it’s due to a (gentle) joke at his expense.</p><p>By the end of the third day Chris has already taken Stamets up on his offer of quiet time in Engineering several times. Stamets, not surprisingly, is a very effective guard dog and while he’s there Chris is generally left alone.</p><p>Meanwhile, a group of engineers have cobbled together a camera for the main elevator, which is capable of interpreting a very specific set of hand gestures. Chris can now hold up two fingers and get to deck 2 without breaking out his PADD. It’s a sweet act that he makes sure to thank them for, since it was a fair bit of effort for something that’s only needed by him and he’s grateful that next time he loses his PADD he at least won’t be stuck on a single deck until he gets it back or gets someone else to escort him.</p><p>Surprisingly, he does also discover some unexpected upsides to his current condition. Once, he’s walking down a usually quiet corridor only to frown at the sound of raised voices. He rounds a corner to find two engineers engaged in a shouting match – not an angry one, as his first concerned guess had been, but something about the best way to implement a system-wide coding check.</p><p>Chris’ lips twitch. He loves having a crew so dedicated to their jobs, passionate about what they do well, even if it does lead to slightly too energetic discussions in the hallway. Still, at least a semblance of professionalism is called for and as the Captain he probably shouldn’t endorse such a public display.</p><p>Hand already going for his PADD, Chris considers turning up the volume on the speakers to the equivalent of a shout, but then a new idea forms. This could be a good learning opportunity for the two ensigns.</p><p>So he crosses his arms, leans casually against the wall, and waits for them to notice him.</p><p>“What you’re suggesting is going to need a complete shut-down of the system!” The young Ensign’s braids are flying in time with her animated gesturing. She doesn’t notice her opponent’s eyes widening as she catches sight of him. “If you’d just – ”</p><p>“Raina!” the other Ensign hisses, face gone a little pale. “Shut <em>up</em>.”</p><p>Raina – Ensign Lewan, he remembers with the added nudge – halts, confused. “What?”</p><p>Ensign Holt, who Chris now recalls because the two are assigned to the same working group, jerks her head towards him silently. Lewan turns, hands falling to her sides, and visibly gulps when she catches sight of him.</p><p>“Ah, Captain, sir, um...”</p><p>Chris very slowly raises a single eyebrow.</p><p>“We were just discussing the security system overhaul,” Holt jumps in, not quite meeting his eyes.</p><p>His second eyebrow joins the first.</p><p>Lewan swallows, expression so sheepish Chris almost loses the fight not to smile. “We got a bit carried away, sir. Didn’t mean to get so loud.”</p><p>Chris nods, gesturing for them to continue.</p><p>“And… it won’t happen again?” Holt hazards.</p><p>Chris nods again, more firmly this time. He holds up one finger, smiles, adds a second finger and pulls an exaggerated frown. Cocking his head, he gestures to them, looking for acknowledgement of what he’s telling them.</p><p>Their heads bob in unison.</p><p>“Yes, sir, we understand, sir.”</p><p>“Once is fine, but twice will land us in deep trouble.”</p><p>Well, maybe not <em>deep</em>, not for something as simple as getting a bit carried away in public, but he just nods for a third time and shoos them away with a reassuring smile. He doesn’t doubt they’ll find a more private venue for any professional arguments next time.</p><p>Only once they’ve fully left his field of vision does he allow himself the soundless chortle that’s been begging to come out for the last five minutes.</p><p>Over dinner Michael, eyes sparkling, asks, “What is it I hear about you thoroughly reprimanding a couple of Ensigns without saying a single word?”</p><p>He grins, leans in a bit as if going for conspiratorial whisper, even though the PADD’s output remains the same. [Surprisingly effective. They just got a bit carried away.]</p><p>“Didn’t sound like they were likely to repeat that mistake any time soon,” Michael says dryly, shaking her head. “Apparently it’s worse when you <em>don’t </em>say anything.”</p><p>Chris shrugs, going back to forking up his spinach side-dish.</p><p>Michael taps her fork against her lips thoughtfully. “You <em>are</em> really good at looking paternally disappointed. The shame is almost reflexive.”</p><p>Chris snorts, except of course the sound is missing, and shakes his head at her. He knows she’s just teasing, but it reminds him of the time Robert April’s small son had told him, quite seriously, that “you could make anyone feel bad when you frown at them, Uncle Chris”. Sebastian had always been a bit precocious – and also, at the time, had been trying to cover up the fact that he’d accidentally smashed an ornamental vase his father had brought back from a recent diplomatic engagement.</p><p>The forced break from his normal duties is starting to wear a little, but at least scenes like this one serve as a reminder that he’s still capable of doing his job.</p><p>*</p><p>The intercom calls Chris to the bridge just as he’s leaving his quarters on the fifth morning and he smoothly changes his stride to head there rather than the mess hall, wondering what Saru needs him for. They’re not on alert and he isn’t late to a meeting, which suggests outside influence.</p><p>Saru rises from the captain’s chair as Chris enters the bridge, more out of habit than anything else since Chris has no intention of sitting down there when he’s not in command.</p><p>“Captain,” his first officer greets, inclining his head. “There’s a priority call from Starfleet Command for you.”</p><p>Chris’ eyebrows twitch upward. You don’t get a priority call every day, although the frequency does seem curiously higher on <em>Discovery</em>, and Kat had promised him they would try to keep live calls to a minimum in deference to his current muteness.</p><p>He detaches the small PADD from his uniform just above his hip. [I’ll take it in my ready room.]</p><p>Saru nods again, curiosity in the tilt of his head as he watches Chris disappear through the doorway, the rest of the bridge studiously busy with their own stations, pretending they aren’t following the exchange closely.</p><p>As soon as the door closes behind him, a life-sized ghostly hologram of Kat projects near his desk.</p><p>“Chris,” she greets, brusque as ever. “Apologies for the call, but we have a situation developing.”</p><p>Were he currently able, Chris would make a remark about there <em>always</em> being a situation developing somewhere, but it doesn’t seem worth the hassle of typing it out so he just nods.</p><p>“Salisu is on the brink of civil war. They’ve asked the Federation to send a neutral party to help negotiations.”</p><p>Chris’ heart sinks. He has an idea where this is going.</p><p>“The Salisians asked for <em>you</em>, specifically.”</p><p>He really hopes his look comes across as appropriately incredulous and just to make a point, he ignores the PADD in his left hand and uses the right to point at his throat and make a slashing motion.</p><p>Kat looks like she’s only just stopping herself from rolling her eyes at him.</p><p>“We did inform them of your current circumstances, but they wouldn’t budge. You must’ve made quite the impression last time you were there.”</p><p>Chris frowns because he honestly can’t remember having done anything note-worthy last time he was on Salisu. He had led the team of Federation negotiators, yes, but it had all been fairly run-of-the-mill. In fact, that had been the reason why the <em>Enterprise</em> had been assigned in the first place – it had only been a few months after his promotion and they were still being given milk-runs most of the time. Chris may have learned well from Robert April, but he’d still been finding his feet in the new role.</p><p>So why would the Salisians ask for him?</p><p>“Chris?” Kat prods, a note of concern entering her voice. “Concerns?”</p><p>He shakes his head and resorts to the PADD. [I did nothing notable. Unsure why they would remember me.]</p><p>“You do have a habit of underplaying your efforts,” Kat says, somewhat leadingly in his opinion. Just because he doesn’t like tooting his own horn…</p><p>[Not in this case,] he types, giving her a serious look.</p><p>She sighs. “You suspect an ulterior motive? If you have misgivings, we <em>can </em>let you off the hook, given your current vocal challenges, but the situation on Salisu is shaping up to be volatile. It would be in everyone’s best interests to head this off at the pass.”</p><p>Chris still hasn’t got used to the soundlessness of his sighs, even though he’s doing rather a lot of it at the moment. He already knows, just as she does, that this is going to end with him agreeing to go to Salisu. [What about the Red Angel mission?]</p><p>“Still the priority, but as I understand it you’re currently waiting for another signal to appear?” At his nod, she continues, “Should it do so, you have full permission to divert <em>Discovery</em> and we’ll send another negotiator in your stead. In the meantime, we’ve compiled a dossier on the current situation on the planet. Once you get there, keep me updated.”</p><p>Chris nods again, and she flashes him a brief smile. “Good luck, Chris. Cornwell out.”</p><p>The hologram disappears, leaving an empty room and a budding headache in its wake. Chris rubs a hand over his brow. Negotiating between two parties about to enter a civil war without a voice of his own – joy.</p><p>He allows himself another brief minute of wallowing before he straightens his shoulders and steps back onto the bridge.</p><p>Heads turn and he nods at the assembled bridge crew as he types. He’s getting a lot better at not even looking at his fingers while they fly over the PADD. [New orders. Detmer, lay in a course for Salisu.]</p><p>A lot of puzzled glances meet his announcement, but Detmer immediately turns to her station. “Aye, Captain.”</p><p>[Mr Saru, meet me in the ready room.]</p><p>Saru unfolds himself from the Captain’s chair and is immediately replaced by Airiam.</p><p>Chris waves Saru through the door and into a chair, while he settles himself behind his desk and calls up the dossier Kat sent.</p><p>“Another diplomatic mission?” Saru asks, never one to miss putting two and two together. Or maybe Chris’ disquiet was just that obvious. “<em>Discovery </em>is an… unusual choice.”</p><p>[Apparently the Salisians asked for me specifically,] Chris answers the unspoken question, repressing a grimace.</p><p>Saru’s head tilts. “You were there before?”</p><p>[Negotiated their entry into the Federation. Very standard. I did not stand out.]</p><p>The head tilts further. “Do you suspect further motivations?”</p><p>Chris shrugs. [I want you to keep an open mind.]</p><p>“That <em>is </em>a given on this ship,” Saru reminds him, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement there that make Chris smile. “May I ask how our ongoing mission fits into this?”</p><p>[Full dispensation to divert if another signal appears.]</p><p>Saru nods.</p><p>[I am forwarding you this dossier. Command staff meeting here in an hour, familiarise yourself with the basics.]</p><p>“I will arrange it, Captain.”</p><p>*</p><p>No one is exactly thrilled with the new developments – Michael goes particularly flinty-eyed when Chris makes it clear that yes, he’s expected down on the planet and no, his inability to speak doesn’t change that – but his senior crew is nothing if not professional. By the time <em>Discovery </em>arrives at Salisu, the away team is ready and the rest of the crew on a low alert level, as Chris is still feeling uneasy about the whole thing.</p><p>Not that he worries much about his <em>personal </em>safety when flanked by Michael and Nhan, but he doesn’t like it when there are hidden machinations at work and he’s almost certain that’s the case here.</p><p>Neither of the two races inhabiting Salisu are particularly militaristic, but they'd seen conflict with each other in recent history. The divide is one not just of race but of living circumstances as well. The 'Inner-Dwellers', as they call themselves, live primarily in expansive cave formations. The 'Outer-Dwellers' are traditionally a mix of agricultural and nomadic herders. Chris knows from long experience that with such disparate circumstances, tensions are almost pre-programmed. In the case of Salisu, it manifested as conflict about the representation of the Outer-Dwellers on the governing body. The Inner-Dwellers’ more sedentary lifestyle had occasioned more rapid technological progress and they also produce most of Salisu’s tradeable commodities in their precious stone mines – for a long time they were the ones making decisions concerning contact with other worlds. It’s also what had caused the most need for amendment and mediation when they'd first petitioned to join the Federation – and if the Federation's intel is correct, it’s still the root of the problem now. Chris has no trouble believing it.</p><p>Their meeting place, the biggest city on the planet, nestles along a mountain range where caves meet open air. The transporter deposits them in the main square, half exposed to the sky, half shadowed by an arching roof which marks the entrance to the Salisian Council’s main building and the network of caves under the mountain beyond.</p><p>Chris immediately notes that their welcoming committee consists only of Inner-Dwellers, easily recognisable by their large, bulbous eyes, spindly limbs and translucent skin.</p><p>One steps forward, bowing slightly at the waist. “Greetings, Federation ambassadors. I am Tomasin, aide to the First Councillor of Salisu.”</p><p>Tomasin is looking mostly at Chris as he speaks, but doesn’t seem surprised when Chris only inclines his head in return while Michael replies. Either they’ve been briefed on his condition, or they’re not easily flustered.</p><p>“Thank you for your welcome, Aide Tomasin,” Michael says, before introducing the three of them.</p><p>Chris keeps most of his attention on Michael as she runs deftly through the necessary pleasantries – they’d decided that she would act as Chris’ voice for the most part, in the hopes that it would make what he <em>did</em> say more impactful, rather than causing offence through his silence – but also takes in their surroundings with a keen eye. There are both Inner-Dwellers and Outer-Dwellers out and about in the square, though all give them a polite berth, and while he wouldn’t say the atmosphere is entirely easy, it also doesn’t feel particularly strained to him. It’s a good sign, that whatever political unrest is taking place hasn’t yet spread to the masses, but it also makes him wary. Kat’s briefing implied that Salisu is on the edge of civil war – if that were the case, he would expect far more visible signs of unrest. But if it isn’t, why did someone go to such lengths to make the Federation believe it?</p><p>An interesting side effect of not being able to talk without technological aid is that Chris suddenly has a lot more scope to quietly observe than usual where diplomatic events are concerned – as Captain, he’s expected to do most of the talking, representing the Federation to the best of his ability. In this case, however, the entire Salisian Council had been briefed on his muteness, and beyond the occasional acknowledgement or suggestion delivered via his PADD, no one is <em>expecting </em>him to talk. Especially since Michael is more than capable of holding up his usual end of discussions.</p><p>So Chris spends the first few hours of political small talk watching everyone around him, trying to gauge each individual’s stance and character, Inner-Dweller and Outer-Dweller alike. It’s… surprisingly fruitful.</p><p>There’s a general air of simmering tension in the room, but he finds two Outer-Dweller representatives stand out. One through incessant fidgeting and a lot of glances in Chris’ direction, the other through an unrelentingly stony expression that doesn’t shift at all while they go through introductions, the usual glad-handling, and opening statements.</p><p>The impression that there’s something going on underneath the surface strengthens, but without more information he can’t put his finger on what exactly it is, so he stays quiet and watchful throughout the rest of the morning session, only allowing himself the occasional distracted glance at Michael. She’s always magnetic, but right now she’s in her element, voice both controlled and warm as she talks.</p><p>On the upside, he’d half thought the day would be boring, when he has so little to contribute. Instead Chris finds himself surprised when the noon bell is rung, calling all assembled to lunch and for a break.</p><p>As Chris rises from his seat, Counsellor Sase – one of the more relaxed Inner-Dwellers – captures his attention with a quiet call of his rank. Chris nods and steps towards her, PADD in hand.</p><p>“Do you have a moment, Captain?” Sase asks, voice a little hushed. “There’s something I wish to show you which may shed some light on these negotiations.”</p><p>Chris keeps his expression smooth despite the frown that wants to tug at his forehead. Salisian body language is harder to read than human, but the only thing he catches is some anxiety. He holds up a hand, asking for a little time, and taps out a quick message to Michael, who had brought her own PADD full of notes on Salisian culture and politics with her to the meeting.</p><p>Then he nods at Sase and gestures for her to proceed.</p><p>She has so far been quite unbothered by his lack of vocal response, which he appreciates, and doesn’t attempt further small talk while she leads him through several corridors until they reach an entrance to the expansive cave system of the Inner-Dwellers.</p><p>Chris almost hesitates – he isn’t overly fond of caves even on a good day. But Sase is striding forward and whatever she wants to show him is likely important, so he takes a couple of deeper breaths to calm himself and follows.</p><p>Fortunately, they don’t go far into the maze of tunnels. Outside of the main through-way, only the same bioluminescent mushrooms sprouting from the walls that Chris had noted the last time he’d been on the planet light their way, casting an almost eerie glow. They emit surprisingly bright light – for <em>mushrooms</em> anyway– and he isn’t in danger of running into anything, but the quality of the light is different, cold and tinged with green.</p><p>Preoccupied as he is with the mushrooms, Chris immediately spots the problem when Sase comes to a stop in a small chamber arrayed with a circular table and stools in the middle and little else. The light here is dimmer, flickering a little instead of the steady glow outside. Chris steps closer to the wall, studying one of the mushrooms. Even his naked eye can make out dark sickly veins running through its glowy substance.</p><p>“There are three more sites like this one,” Sase tells him quietly, and when he turns to her the sorrowful expression on her face is unmistakeable. “All of them sacred meeting places like this one. Our scientists have so far been unable to find a cure – or cause.”</p><p>Chris frowns a little as he reaches for his PADD. The fact that she’s showing him this implies either a call for help, or that she believes something unsavoury is at work here.</p><p>[Is the spread not natural?] he types, easing through the reflexive shudder at hearing his own voice replicated by the PADD’s loudspeakers.</p><p>“Unlikely. The locations have meaning to us Inner-Dwellers, and there’s no strain of sickness leading from one to the others.” Her voice is grim. “We’ve had fungal infections before, but never with such a sudden onset and we’ve always found some way of treating it.”</p><p>[One of my crew’s expertise lies in mycelia.] Chris types, after a little deliberation. Stamets would probably enjoy getting to look at some interesting mushrooms and it couldn’t hurt to offer assistance. [I can’t guarantee he will find a cure, but he would certainly find it interesting.]</p><p>Sase’s stance relaxes. “We were hoping the Federation’s scientists might assist us. More eyes are better than tired ones.”</p><p>Chris nods. [I will call for Commander Stamets once we’re back with the others.]</p><p>Something is still niggling at him, though, so he adds, [You said this had bearing on the negotiations?]</p><p>Sase blinks several times, a nervous gesture Chris had noticed in other Inner-Dwellers before. “We have no proof of tampering, but no Inner-Dweller would attack these mushrooms. The situation <em>could</em> be used as leverage. We would agree to many concessions in exchange for a cure.”</p><p>The thought had crossed Chris’ mind, too, and he continues to ponder the issue while they make their way back to the meeting hall. He remembers the couple of Outer-Dwellers who had pinged his radar during the meeting, something about their posture, their tone of voice just a little off. The more he considers the matter, the more likely he thinks it to be just a subset of the Outer-Dweller counsellors who are unhappy enough to take matters into their own hands, pushing for re-negotiation with the Federation while keeping an ace up their sleeves. The atmosphere is still too cordial, both among the diplomats and the populace for widespread unrest, but there’s definitely <em>something</em> at work here.</p><p>*</p><p>Chris has just caught Michael and Nhan up on the situation when Stamets beams down, barely stopping to acknowledge them before he’s drawn aside and introduced to several of the Inner-Dweller scientists who’ve been working on reversing the infection.</p><p>A few hours later, he’s deep in conversation with two Outer-Dweller representatives, mostly listening and occasionally tapping something out on his PADD, when he hears it. It takes a moment for the distinctive whine of a phaser shot to register, alertness replacing diplomatic largesse, and by the time he turns, all that’s there to see is a smoking, scorched wall tile, perilously near the First Councillor’s head.</p><p>It takes one heartbeat for a hush to fall, and two for the shouting to begin. Chris, unarmed and surrounded by diplomats, fights down his adrenaline response and instead focuses on following possible trajectories for the shot. A group of security guards bursts through the doorway he has just identified as most likely – not with a prisoner, Chris notes, but one of them holds a familiar weapon.</p><p><em>Shit</em>.</p><p>They had all beamed down without weapons, <em>how </em>had a standard Federation handheld phaser got down here? And where is Michael? Nhan had returned to <em>Discovery </em>a few hours ago after deeming the situation safe enough and Stamets is likely safe in the caves with the Inner-Dweller scientists, but Michael should’ve been in the hall with him. Unease stirs in his gut – she wouldn’t leave without informing him, but he can’t see her and now he’s got two guards and the First Councillor heading for him. Their grim expressions don’t fill him with confidence that it’ll be for a friendly chat.</p><p>“A Federation phaser fired that shot,” the First Councillor says, voice tight. “Did you come here to assassinate me?”</p><p>Chris shakes his head, though he already knows they won’t believe him. [No, we came to help. We didn’t bring weapons, no Starfleet officer would -]</p><p>The PADD is yanked out of his hand before he can complete the sentence and he swallows down a useless, silent protest. Another hand relieves him of his communicator.</p><p>The realisation that he’s just literally been stripped of his ability to verbally defend himself comes in stages, icy cold trickling down his spine until it turns rigid with it.</p><p>“Why should we believe you, <em>Captain</em>? Where is your companion?”</p><p>Chris glares, silenced, and points to his throat then the PADD.</p><p>The guard who holds it makes no move to return the device. “We can’t risk you contacting your ship until we get to the bottom of this.”</p><p>“Which we will, <em>fairly</em>.”</p><p>Chris almost slumps in relief at the new voice, seeing Sase step forward out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“It wasn’t Captain Pike who fired that shot, and until we know who <em>did</em> he should not be treated as the offender.”</p><p>Sase’s calm rationality doesn’t do much to wipe the suspicion from surrounding faces, but a little of the tension leaves the air.</p><p>Still, no one else speaks as Chris is ‘escorted’ out of the hall by two guards, one of whom keeps a firm grip on his arm, as if they think he’s going to make a run for it. Chris has no intention to make himself look guilty of a crime he didn’t commit, and he isn’t particularly worried about himself at the moment either. It’s Michael’s absence that concerns him. He doesn’t believe for a second that she was the one who fired that shot, but the fact that she had disappeared without a word opens a lot of grim possibilities. If she’d just been out of the hall for some innocent reason, to stretch her legs or go to the bathroom, then she would’ve come back in on hearing the commotion. That she didn’t is enough for an icy knot of fear to settle deep in his stomach, not at all helped by the fact that he’s not in a position to do anything for her.</p><p>In fact, he’s led into the first layer of caves and shoved into a small room lit only by a line of mushrooms along the wall, bare of anything but a couple of bunks, and a rudimentary sink and toilet in a niche in the wall. The door clanks shut with some finality and Chris slumps onto one of the bunks with a soundless groan.</p><p>Another planet, another prison he really could’ve done without visiting, another tally mark Number One would soon gleefully add to her ‘Away Missions Ending Badly’ chart.</p><p>He isn’t left alone for long. Chris has never had a particularly accurate internal clock, but it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before the door opens again and Stamets stomps through, muttering under his breath and generally looking like he’s a hair’s breadth away from shouting at the guards.</p><p>Arms crossed over his chest, Stamets eyes the cell disdainfully. “Captain, fancy meeting you here.”</p><p>Chris’ lips twitch, despite the situation, but levity quickly disappears when Stamets frowns and asks, “Where’s Burnham?”</p><p>The way his expression clouds over is probably answer enough, but Chris still shrugs his shoulders and draws a question mark in the air.</p><p>Stamets’ frown deepens, eyes flickering over Chris’ uniform. “They took your PADD?”</p><p>Chris nods.</p><p>“Bastards,” Stamets grumbles. “Why exactly are we in here?”</p><p>Chris mimes shooting something, then draws FEDERATION PHASER in the air with his forefinger. It’s annoyingly laborious for something he could say in a couple of seconds, especially because he has to invert every letter in his mind, but thankfully Stamets has never been slow on the uptake.</p><p>“They think Michael shot someone?” he asks, tone conveying exactly how ludicrous he thinks the idea is.</p><p>Chris nods, a sour twist to his own mouth, and mimes the shot going past his ear.</p><p>“So no one even died?” Stamets grouses. “What are they so upset about then?”</p><p>Chris snorts soundlessly, just pissed enough at the situation to appreciate the gripe, however undiplomatic it may be. But there are other questions that need answering, so he points at Stamets, then the door, draws another question mark.</p><p>Stamets cocks his head, clearly puzzled. “What?”</p><p>Chris suppresses a grimace, narrows down what he really wants to know and writes UNHARMED? in the air.</p><p>“Oh, that.” Stamets is back to scowling. “No one did anything to me, just pulled me away from my work and marched me here without so much as an explanation.”</p><p>PROGRESS? Chris signs, then points at one of the mushrooms.</p><p>Stamets steps towards the wall, eyeing the mushroom Chris had pointed to much in the way a different person might’ve eyed their favourite dessert. “It really is highly localised,” he mutters, then jumps when Chris taps his foot once – loudly. He’s unfazed by Stamets’ glare, and the snap in his voice when he says, “In short, to avoid me having to explain the fundamentals of mycology to you, yes, we were making progress in creating an antivirus from samples of diseased fungi. <em>Until</em> we were so rudely interrupted. Even if the scientists here are able to complete the calculations I started, they don’t have the facilities to quickly create enough of the antivirus to stop the spreading. Typically short-sighted of the politicians, throwing me in prison instead.”</p><p>Chris can’t disagree. He nods, and with another soundless sigh drops down onto the nearest bunk. There is nothing much to do but wait – especially given he <em>can’t</em> talk and Stamets is only chatty when it’s about mushrooms or maybe engineering.</p><p>It’s going to be a long day.</p><p>*</p><p>His earlier surmise is a bit of an understatement. Chris doesn’t do all that well with forced inactivity even on a good day, and a day he’s been incarcerated for a crime his people didn’t commit, can’t talk to defend himself (or them), and is stuck with an increasingly grumpy Stamets hardly counts as one.</p><p>The underground gloom is making it hard for him to track time. Once, a guard opens the door and pushes two trays of food and water into the cell, ignoring Stamets’ exasperated query about what’s going on. It’s probably dinner, which means they’ve been in the cell for three or four hours. In orbit, Saru is going to become suspicious about their lack of communication right about now, if he isn’t already. With another First Officer in charge, Chris might’ve been worried about their decisions making a tense situation worse, but Saru is a careful, deliberate sort. Chris would still feel better if Michael was up there with him, lending her insight.</p><p>He closes his eyes against the glow of the mushrooms, breathes out once, twice. He’s trying not to think about Michael too much – it inevitably leads to wondering whether she’s hurt (or <em>dead</em> that little voice at the back of his mind that grew into something more insistently depressing after Talos whispers).</p><p>He’s so caught up in not thinking about her, in fact, that when there’s a slight scrabbling sound at the door not long after their dinner delivery, it takes him a long moment and some rapid blinking to realise that his eyes are in fact seeing Michael standing in the doorway and this isn’t some kind of hallucination.</p><p>The way Stamets pops up from his bunk while hiss-whispering “Burnham!” certainly helps.</p><p>For once not even wasting a single thought on professional discretion, Chris lets his eyes flicker over her form, taking in the firm stance, the Salisian firearm she’s holding in steady hands, the familiar stubborn glint in her eyes. The weight that’s been sitting on his lungs drops away at the picture it amounts to – Michael is ruffled, but not injured.</p><p>“Let’s go,” she whispers, motioning with her free hand. “I can get you out of here.”</p><p>There are a hundred questions burning in Chris’ mind and he has the time to gesture out precisely none of them. He holds out a hand to stop Stamets from moving forward, shaking his head.</p><p>‘Stay’, he signs to Michael, glad all over again that she knows more Federation Sign than he does, pointing first at himself then at Stamets. He doesn’t know the sign for ‘innocent’, so he writes it out in the air.</p><p>Stamets is looking between the two of them, lost.</p><p>“Yes, I know we’re innocent,” Michael hisses, eyebrows drawing together. “But <em>they </em>don’t.”</p><p>Chris wants to reach out to her, smooth the furrow from her brow with gentle fingers, and deeply regrets that now is not the time. He <em>also</em> regrets his limited vocabulary. ‘Run look bad’ he signs.</p><p>Stamets, who is finally catching on to Chris’ objections, groans. “You want us to <em>stay </em>here?”</p><p>Michael doesn’t look any happier. “I have no way to prove that I didn’t fire that shot,” she points out, eyes sparking fire at him. “We don’t know whether they’ll continue to treat you well, not with how tense things are right now.”</p><p>Quite aware of both of those points, Chris still doesn’t budge. He raises a hand to his mouth as if talking into a communicator, then points upward with his forefinger before making the sweeping FS motion for ‘plan’.</p><p>Michael’s brow clears. “You want me to find a way to contact Saru and coordinate a plan with him.”</p><p>Chris nods.</p><p>Stamets crosses his arms over his chest, expression dark. “So we just sit in this cell here until you’ve sorted everything out ‘diplomatically’?”</p><p>Even for Stamets’ usual baseline, the last word drips with an impressive amount of sarcasm.</p><p>Chris can only shrug and give the man a rueful look. He isn’t exactly keen on that part of the plan, either, but if it’s enough to avert a complete breakdown in ties between Salisu and the Federation, it would be worth it.</p><p>The argument might’ve drawn out longer, but a noise from further down the corridor has Michael tensing.</p><p>“Stay safe,” she says, more a warning than anything else going by the tone of her voice, and then she’s gone, the door thudding quietly shut in her wake.</p><p>Chris heaves a toneless sigh of relief and lets Stamets’ disgruntled glare pass unacknowledged. Some captains are greater sticklers for protocol, but once he knows he has the trust of his crew, he doesn’t worry about small dissenting gestures like this one – in fact, he prefers honest expression to the kind of quiet resentment that can build when officers don’t feel like they can voice their displeasure without denting the captain’s authority. Or ego.</p><p>Chris settles himself on his bunk more firmly. All there’s left to do now is wait – might as well try to get some shut-eye in the meantime.</p><p>*</p><p>It’s not the best sleep he’s ever gotten by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it stops him from consciously worrying about Michael constantly. For all his faith in her abilities it still sits badly to leave her without obvious backup.</p><p>He needn’t have worried. The next time the cell door opens, it’s to a tired Michael and an apologetic Councillor Sase. Somewhat short on patience at this stage, Chris hurries through retaking possession of his PADD and accepting Sase’s apology on behalf of the Salisian Council, just about managing to stay on this side of rude (though, given the circumstances, he thinks the Salisians have no leg to stand on in terms of complaints). Stamets vibrating with impatience to get back to the mushroom virus problem next to him is only fuelling his own desire to return to <em>Discovery</em> and Michael looks fatigued enough to provide unhelpful visions of them both in bed, finally relaxing.</p><p>Even in his current state of irritated tiredness, however, Chris knows they can’t just leave without at least being clear on the situation on the planet, so he waves Stamets off in the direction of the group of scientists hovering at the end of the corridor and turns to Michael. They’re still standing in the dim area just outside the cell, but he can’t be bothered to move somewhere more inviting where there’re going to be more apologetic people to deal with, like as not.</p><p>[What happened?] he types, eyes squinting at the bright display of the PADD. [Briefly.]</p><p>Sase remains close, listening.</p><p>“Three Outer-Dwellers grabbed me outside the meeting hall,” Michael begins, shifting a little so she’s just that small bit closer to Chris. “That must’ve been a little before the shooting because I didn’t hear or see it. From what I gathered while they held me, they’d got their hands on a Federation phaser via some trader and hoped that framing me for the assassination attempt would break Salisu’s ties with the Federation. The attack on the mushrooms wasn’t moving things along quickly enough.” Her gaze flickers to Sase. “They believe the balance of power is weighted towards the Inner-Dwellers as long as our alliance holds.”</p><p>Sase nods, a grim slant to her mouth. “As things stand right now, they’re not wrong. We were hoping to remedy that with these negotiations.”</p><p>[Out of my hands now,] Chris contributes, not feeling all that sorry for it. He’s pretty sure that the rogue Outer-Dwellers must’ve been the ones to specifically request his presence – probably intending to frame him rather than someone under his command. Due to his history with Salisu, his ‘betrayal’ would have had… impact. [I will relay what happened to Starfleet Command and they will decide how to proceed. They may not send another negotiator until this situation is under control.]</p><p>It’s hardly good news for Sase, but she nods stolidly. “Commander Burnham already identified the individuals who held her when she came to the Council after her escape. We will work to bring them to justice.”</p><p>Chris nods at her. It’s the least the Federation will expect.</p><p>[We’ll be in touch] Chris tells Sase, who returns his nod and watches as the transporter beam takes the three Starfleet officers back up to the ship in orbit.</p><p>Chris wants nothing more than to retreat to his quarters, have a nice meal, read a little on the sofa and then sleep straight through to the next day, all three stages preferably including Michael, but first he has to go through a debrief with Saru, updating him on the situation down on the planet and hearing – with no surprise – that the ship had run smoothly during his absence, debrief with Michael, and fend off Doctor Pollard’s attempts to give him a surreptitious check-up because aside from tiredness and his voice <em>still </em>not working there’s nothing wrong with him. Mission protocol states that a medical examination is only mandated when a crewmember is missing for more than 24 hours. Chris maintains that he may only have missed that by a couple of hours, but it still counts.</p><p>When he finally makes it to his quarters, Michael is already there, waiting for him. They eat in companionable silence, taking full advantage of the Captain’s personal replicator. The last thing Chris wants is another round of people coming up to him in the mess hall.</p><p>‘Bed?’ he finally signs when both their plates are clean. Michael rouses a little, a spark of animation breaking through the tiredness all but tangibly hovering around her.</p><p>“Stars yes,” she groans. “If we wait any longer you might have to carry me there.”</p><p>Chris grins, resorting to his PADD to return, [Thought we’d already discussed that I’m far too fragile for that.}</p><p>Contrary to his words, he steps over to her chair and provides a solid arm for her to lever herself up from. Michael leans into the touch, makes an indecipherable noise as she stands, already in his space. He doesn’t try to resist the urge to kiss her, but keeps it light, not wanting to start something beyond the comfort of the moment. Michael sighs against his lips, then rests her head against his shoulder, her own drooping a little.</p><p>“I was worried,” she says into his uniform jacket. “After the Outer-Dweller faction abducted me I didn’t know what they’d planned for you.” Leaning back, she shoots him a look. “When Number One warned me of your habit of getting into trouble, I didn’t think you’d end up in prison on your third away mission.”</p><p>Chris laughs, a reflexive response he hasn’t yet trained his throat out of</p><p>– and goes cross-eyed when he can <em>hear </em>it. Wide-eyed he draws back, staring at Michael who looks equally surprised.</p><p>“You could hear that, right?” he says, and there’s his voice, coming out of his mouth just like it always used to, not even <em>hoarse</em>, and the last bit of doubt that maybe he’s hallucinating really vividly is dispelled when Michael nods.</p><p>“The effects of the drink must have finally worn off,” she says, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “They did say it wouldn’t be longer than fourteen days.”</p><p>Despite his own elation, Chris can’t help but groan, relishing even <em>that</em> sound. “The timing is… ironic.”</p><p>If the damned drink had worn off even a few hours earlier, it would’ve saved him a lot of hassle.</p><p>“At least your voice is back now,” Michael points out reasonably. “The timing is surely secondary to it taking place at all.”</p><p>“True enough,” Chris agrees easily, happy to leave his momentary irritation with the whole thing behind and instead just enjoy not having to type absolutely everything. He’d worried a bit that his voice would sound foreign to him once it returned, as he <em>had</em>, grudgingly, got used to the computerised version of it, but instead it just sounds right. Strangely comforting.</p><p>“A satisfactory outcome all around, though next time I’d as soon avoid the whole experience.” He sobers then, remembering her earlier words. “I was worried about you, too, Michael. Stamets and I were safe enough in that cell, but no one knew where you were. You could’ve – ”</p><p>Michael lays a finger on his lips, shushing him. “I’m fine. The faction needed me alive and unharmed to serve as their scapegoat.”</p><p>“Bet they regretted choosing you when you broke out and exposed them,” Chris grins, figuring he’s allowed some smugness on her account.</p><p>Michael rolls her eyes, tugging on his hand to get them moving toward the bedroom again.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>It’s in the morning, after ten hours of good sleep, cuddled up with Michael in a way he shouldn’t have missed for that one night and yet did, that Chris finally brings up the question he’s been mulling over ever since he’d first been struck mute.</p><p>“Why were you so worried about having sex while I couldn’t talk?”</p><p>She jerks a little, surprised at the question and a little defensive, too, if he reads her right. Chris captures her hand, entwining their fingers, gives her something to hold on to.</p><p>“You wouldn’t have been taking advantage of me, Michael. And I <em>know</em> that you would’ve stopped the moment I seemed uncomfortable with anything.” His lips quirk. “Not that that was a likely outcome.”</p><p>Michael sighs, fingers relaxing against his grip. She isn’t looking him in the eye, gaze trained on his chest instead, and a little curl of worry unfurls in his stomach.</p><p>“Michael?”</p><p>“Vulcans are touch-telepaths,” she says, voice low, and Chris stills. “It doesn’t impact much in their day-to-day life, since the culture doesn’t encourage casual contact, but I grew up knowing that should I stay among Vulcans, I would never have intercourse in which I wasn’t missing a crucial source of input that my partner <em>would</em> be experiencing.”</p><p>Chris traces his free hand along her arm, silently supportive. She looks up then, finally meets his gaze. “My head knows that among humans it’s normal not to have that, but the thought of missing out on another source of feedback didn’t… I couldn’t process it then.”</p><p>Chris nods, pulls her closer. He can’t say he fully understands where she’s coming from, but that doesn’t really matter.</p><p>“In that case, I’m glad you put a stop to it. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with anything we do.”</p><p>Michael smiles, now almost nose to nose with him, and draws a hand through the sensitive hair at the nape of his neck. “That, I <em>do</em> know. But I’m still glad your voice is back – I missed hearing it.”</p><p>That, he thinks, makes two of them.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>